Pushing Me Away
by P.S. Speare
Summary: Never one to follow the rules, Schuldich walks the fine line between pleasure and pain in the decisions he makes ... and doesn't. Brad/Schu pairing.


A/N: Lyrics are from Linkin Park's "Pushing Me Away," denoted between "/ … /".  

Pushing Me Away

I am a masochist at heart.  As much as I delight in the pain of others – especially if they suffer by my hands – I also seem to enjoy my own pain.  How else can I explain what I just did?  Or what I'm about to do?

I pause before his office door, my hand resting idly on the doorknob as a wave of doubt washes over me. What do I want to happen in there?  How do I want him to react?  Would he react at all?  For once, I wish I possessed his power of precognition instead of this gift and curse they call telepathy.  But I easily force my thoughts away from the uncertainty, adeptly summoning the familiar demeanor of cockiness for which I am renowned and finally turning the knob.

/ I've lied to you

The same way that I always do/

I move forward and push the door closed behind me as I swagger nonchalantly into the room.  He doesn't look up from his all-too-engrossing work – no nod of acknowledgement, not even a show of annoyance at my neglecting to knock.  Whether I am surprised by this or not, I can't really say.  After all, he is a precog and nothing ever truly disturbs him.  But once, just once, I want him to look at me and be totally taken aback by my presence.  Instead, he ignores me; the content of those files apparently more interesting than anything I would ever have to say.  Is my pride hurt?  Probably … no, definitely.

"What now, Schuldich?" he asks resignedly, his pen scratching furiously on the paper.

The coldness doesn't bother me … at least, I don't think it does.  Taking a fortifying breath, I move casually to the front of his desk and stand there until the thick silence forces him to look at me.  Conceited creature that I am, I like to be looked at.  I like to be looked at by him.

Noticing a letter opener lying neglected on the desk, I pick it up and play with it until I know I try his patience.  Satisfied, I toss it disdainfully back down on his treasured files.  He ignores it and continues to stare at me with an expression of forced obligation.  Suppressing an inward sigh, I decide I'd stalled long enough.

/ This is the last smile

That I'll fake for the sake of being with you /

"I crashed your car, Crawford."  I give him my most roguish smile because, well, who _can't_ forgive me when they see my most endearing expression?  "It'll be out of commission for a while."

"How much?" he asks blandly as his gaze returns to his work.  My smile falters slightly as I try to regain his attention.

"Look, it was an accident.  I …" 

"How much, Schuldich?" he repeats, as if trying to get an answer from a toddler.

'Look at me,' I want to say as I glare at his distracted face.  ' … Notice me … see me…'

But he continues with his work, as if I'm an interruption only to be tolerated and would disappear given enough time and patience.

'Well, I've got news for you, Brad Crawford.  It's not that easy.'

"I don't know," I respond.

I want him to get mad.  I want him to scream and yell at me for destroying his precious black Beamer.  Damnit, is he ever even remotely ruffled?

I open my mouth, snide comment at the ready when he finally looks up again.  I freeze at this steady scrutiny, hoping for some small expression of emotion but expecting something much less.

"If you've said everything you need to say, Schuldich, then leave," he states simply, and dismisses me silently with his indifference.

'Fine!' I yell mentally, fighting the urge to stamp out of the room like a petulant child.  Why do I let him do that to me?  Why do I even follow his orders?  

I'll tell you why, a little voice inside of me whispers.  Because you like it.  Because he's the only one you'd ever permit to talk to you like that.

Fuck, I hate him, I muse as I angrily make my way to my room.

"How much, Schuldich," I squeak, making a mockery of his supposedly superior attitude.  I finally reach my room and slam the door shut after I enter, the loud vibrations reverberating in the walls of our current abode.

"If you've said everything you need to say, Schuldich, then leave…" I echo in a sing-song voice, my face twisted in a grotesque imitation of the stuck up American.

/ Everything falls apart

Even the people who never frown

Eventually break down /

Looking wildly about my room, I walk toward my night table and yank at my lamp until the cord is no longer connected to the wall.  Impulsively, I throw it across the room: the satisfying sound of shattering glass is music to my ears.  

I'm nothing to him.

I kick over a chair.

I'm fucking beneath his notice.

I hurl some books across the room.

What do I have to do to get him to 'see' me?

I flip over some furniture and continue to create a disaster area of my personal sanctuary.  Yes, I'm temperamental, and yes, I'm throwing a tantrum but I can't seem to control myself.  It's so damn hard pretending.  It takes so much out of me to keep up this feckless mask, to act as if everything is fine after being rejected time and time again.

/ The sacrifice of hiding in a lie /

Why do I even bother?  I could do so much better than this, … than him.  If I wanted to, I could go out there and seduce anyone, male and female alike, with my engaging charm and charisma.

And if I did, would he even notice?  Would he even care?

Probably not.

/ Everything has to end

You'll soon find we're out of time left

To watch it all unwind /

I look around the room only to see broken glass, rumpled clothing, and overturned furniture surrounding me in a sea of chaos.  Letting out a dispirited sigh, I back myself up until I feel the wall push hard against me and slide tiredly to the ground.

The life that lies behind me is saturated with his presence, his influence, yet the life before me… it's obscured by shadows of doubt and uncertainty, but potentially free of him.  Could I do it?  Leave this all behind?  Leave him and taste, if even briefly, the elixir of freedom?  Am I truly that strong?

 I chuckle at the direction my thoughts take, amused that I would even consider such a possibility.  Me, strong?  Not a snowball's fucking chance in hell, although I'd be the first to say that I could easily pretend to be.  I'm a man driven by self-indulgent desires and to ask me to deny my selfishness is nearly impossible.  I can't leave … I'm not that strong.

/ The sacrifice is never knowing

Why I never walked away

Why I played myself this way /

"Are you done with your juvenile behaviour?"  His clear mental voice cuts through my shallow self-reflection, sobering me up to the harshness of reality.  His unemotional tone doesn't affect me – or at least, it shouldn't.

"But I always behave like this!  You should know that by now, Crawford."  I project lightness into my telepathic voice as I respond to his exasperated question, and yet, I feel weighed down by an intangible burden I could easily do without.

/ Now I see your testing me pushes me away /

Reject me, Crawford.  Show me your infamous disinterest and you'll see how inconsequential it is to me.  I can pretend with the best of them, and I will win in the end.  You'll see.

(***)

Tonight's mission is simple and routine, so much so that I'm actually bored with the technicalities Crawford repeatedly drums into me.  I suppress a yawn as Crawford clarifies our positions one more time:  he and Nagi will steal the industrial secrets while Farfarello and I wait here and keep Weiss occupied.  Easy enough, I think, my interest now piqued at the mention of Weiss.

"Understand, Schuldich?"  Crawford asks again, probably misled by my look of ennui.

"Yes, yes…" I placate.  Anything to keep him happy.

/ I've tried like you

To do everything you wanted to /

He would never ask Farfarello twice if his instructions had been understood so why me?  After all, the Irishman 'is' the insane one.  But then again, the white-haired Schwarz member never pretended, never acted … he's probably the most genuine of us all.

And thus, I watch as he walks away with Nagi, my eyes following his retreating back with a concealed combination of hate and need.

/ This is the last time

I'll take the blame for the sake of being with you /

Farfarello and I linger in the lobby of the building, he patiently playing with his knives in the moonlit darkness and I energetically pacing the marbled floor.  I am antsy and I don't know why.  It's my nature, I suppose, never calm, always impulsive.

It isn't long before a flash of metal alerts me to the presence of others.  I reach out with my mind and encounter the focused mind of the brunette and the steely one of Weiss's redhead.  I don't detect the other two but I don't particularly care.

My lips move into their customary smirk as I choose to engage Aya, leaving Farfarello to have his fun with Ken.  I easily dodge a lethal swipe of his sword and amusedly watch his intent face.  I will play with him a bit, I decide as he thrusts his katana at my chest.  I gracefully sidestep his attack and gently caress his mind with silken strands of gossamer.  He's nearly impenetrable, much like Crawford, which is perhaps the reason I like toying with him so much.

Of the four men who comprise Schwarz's counterpart, I enjoy their leader the most.  His coldness, his seriousness remind me so much of the American.  And with this redhead, I can taunt and tease to my heart's content with a higher chance of eliciting a reaction.

I almost laugh out loud as he lunges at me, his sword poised for a side swipe.  I deftly twist away and quickly bring my hand up to encircle his throat.

He freezes as I begin to choke him, my eyes lighting up with pleasure at his stunned expression.  Sensing that Farfarello had managed to chase the other one off somewhere, I decide to have a little more fun.  Careful not to cut off his airway, I push him back until his head hits a wall with a dull thump.

Moonlight floods in through the large window panels, emphasizing the smoothness of his alabaster skin and contrasting with two gems of violet fire.  I wonder if he is even aware of his own beauty.

"You're beautiful, did you know that?"  I whisper into his mind.

He looks at me, his expression empty and implacable.  The only indication that he had heard my comment is seen in the slight narrowing of his eyes.  Cold, unbreakable, untouchable … so much like Crawford …

/ Everything falls apart 

Even the people who never frown

Eventually break down /

Before I can stop myself, I lean forward and kiss him, skillfully seducing the warm flesh beneath my lips with gentle, practiced motions.  He tries to throw me off, his body struggling against mine, and his sword clattering on the wall, but I tighten my grip on his throat and forcefully plunge my tongue into his moist depths.

I know he's fighting for air but I take my time, slowly tasting his sweetness, and embracing his discomfort and strangled gurgles with a sadistic pleasure that scares even myself.

/ The sacrifice of hiding in a lie /

"Schuldich, we have to go!"  Crawford's no-nonsense voice pierces through my thoughts, and reality comes rushing back.  My hold slackens at the unexpected distraction and my captive instinctively senses the opening.

Moving with poetic fluidity, he manages to throw me off before I get the chance to react.  I recover quickly but not quick enough to evade the deadly sword point that flies almost imperceptibly at me.

/ Everything has to end

You'll soon find we're out of time left

To watch it all unwind /

Only my well-honed reflexes save me from being staked through the heart; instead, I feel the cold metal dig deep into my shoulder, causing a streak of blinding white heat to shoot through my whole body.

"Crawford!" I scream mentally, uncertain why I call him in my moment of need but hoping the desperation in my tone would draw him here.

I look at my attacker, his face an unreadable mask save for the drastic juxtaposition of his kiss-swollen lips.  I smile sensually at him, ignoring the sword in my shoulder.

"Did you enjoy that as much as I did?"  I whisper huskily and for a moment, we stand still, frozen like marble statues immortalized in the miasma of time.

Then, with a disgust grunt, he slowly withdraws his sword from its bloody sheath.

Fuck, that hurts!  

If I didn't know better, I'd say that the man had a streak of sadism in him somewhere too.  It takes all my strength to fight the overwhelming dizziness and remain standing.

As I try to stagger away from his sword's reach, a resounding gunshot echoes through the vacant lobby and I see the other redhead dive to avoid getting clipped.  Quickly scanning the darkened periphery, my eyes alight on the glint of gunmetal from the far corner, and an odd mixture of relief and trepidation floods through me.  Apparently, Aya sees Crawford too, and I hear him curse.  Realizing his disadvantaged predicament, the Weiss leader wisely makes his retreat, two more gunshots following in his wake.

Before I know it, Crawford is beside me, and holstering his gun.  He grabs my uninjured arm and drags me toward the exit as well, tempered annoyance evident in his actions if not his face.  His hand bites into me and I feel the heat from his contact more acutely than the pain that radiates from my shoulder.

/ The sacrifice is never knowing

Why I never walked away

Why I played myself this way /

"Why so rough, Crawford?"  I ask casually.  He releases me, and I almost regret saying those words.  He whips around and stares at me with a dark intensity that makes me feel like an errant schoolboy.

"It was an easy mission, Schuldich.  And you couldn't even handle the simplest instructions."  His words aren't laden with the fury or disappointment I'd hoped for, only a hint of exasperation, and I wonder what it would take to get him angry with me.

Suddenly, a thought occurs to me and I stare straight at him as I say, "But I had so much fun.  I kissed him, you know, pretending he was you."

The stunned silence only lasts a fraction of a second before he backhands me across the face.  The force is enough to snap my head back and I taste liquid copper gush into my mouth.  I turn to face him once more, my eyes gleaming with a pleased light and my lips slowly moving into a wicked, red-smeared smile.  My cheek stings like a bitch, the pain outdoing the slowly seeping wound on my shoulder – a pain that lingers like a lover's parting kiss, a pain that borders on the fringes of pure pleasure.

Yet for that short moment in time after I'd said those words, I saw it.  I saw the presence of unadulterated fear in his eyes before his icy mask instantly replaced it.  I saw his stony façade slip, revealing something entirely unknown and foreign.  But most importantly, I saw him notice me, however briefly.

/ Now I see your testing me pushes me away /

He stares at me impassively for a little longer before turning away and walking out the door.  So, I am left the satisfied smile plastered on my face, watching as he pushes me away again.  And like a ship beating blindly against a storm, I force my legs into motion and follow him outside.  The cold night air caresses my heated skin with alarming quickness and I realize then and there that I will always follow him, no matter what.  You see, he is mine, … mine to break, mine to bring down, mine to shatter… and I never part with any of my important possessions.  I live for the day when he will escape his perfect mold and truly 'see' me through my own mask.  

Until then, I will enjoy this indifference, this rejection … this pain.  I quicken my pace when I see him getting too far away, and chuckle softly at my own foolishness and dark devotion.  I have one twisted little mind…but didn't I say before that I was a masochist at heart?


End file.
